Big Brother
by Jimperbam
Summary: Dean is used to being Sam's big brother, but his powers of elder sibling-ness are to be put to the test when his angel and his gruff drunk join his Sammy in being invalid.
1. Arrival

This is at once an appeasement fic for taking so long on my Heroes story and the product of the wee hours of the morning. I love it a little too much. I mean, who doesn't like Dean being mommy? XD And yeah, there's also a lot of Destiel subtext. Yes, I do it on purpose. Yes, I know you love it.

Comments much appreciated.

~I do not own Supernatural or any of these characters, but I bet I could sue the show for ownership rights due to severe emotional trauma…~

oOoOo

Dean considered the one shortcoming of his precious car as he cruised down the open, deserted road: though it was beautiful and faithful and functional and a veritable tank, it was just too small. It rarely bothered him; if he really wanted a nap, the back seat would suffice. It was Sam who had the most trouble cramming into the Impala, and God help him if _he_ wanted a nap.

Dean glanced with pity at Sam's legs. One was thrown over the back of the seat. The other lay limply in the floor. The elder Winchester again took to smoothing the hair off his brother's too-warm forehead that was conveniently located in his lap. His left arm, the support for Sam's pillow, had gone numb hours ago, but Dean dared not move. Sam had been beleaguered with a very nasty bug and he needed all the sleep he could get.

They were en route to Bobby's, where a very screwed over Castiel resided. He'd come off the worse in an angel fight, Bobby had relayed over the phone, and only had enough juice to pop into Bobby's living room before dropping unconscious. Dean had been reluctant to travel with Sam so under the weather, but he figured it would be more economical to set Sam up with Cas so he could look after both of them.

Sam stirred groggily and coughed. Dean was automatically ready with a pop-top water bottle, from which Sam drank eagerly. Dean would have made a joke about Sam needing to be fed from bottle had he been in a better mood.

"We almost there?" Sam asked hoarsely once the water bottle was dry.

"Got about twenty more minutes. Hang in there."

"I'm not _dying_, Dean," Sam said with good humor, considering. He sat up slowly and worked the stiffness out of his neck and shoulders. "Is Cas okay?"

"As okay as he can be for getting jumped by five angels," Dean replied with an eye roll. "Wish he woulda ran, or called, or something. I'm getting pretty good with those angel swords, you know..."

"Yeah, that's great. Then it would have been him beat up and you scattered over a five-mile radius."

"Cute." But Dean knew Sam was right, though it didn't change his feelings on the subject. He felt somehow that if Cas made it to them, he could have done something...

They arrived at Bobby's place in good time. Bobby greeted them at the door and made Sam comfortable while Dean went to check on Cas.

It was a pretty pathetic sight, Dean decided when he opened the door. It was certainly the first time he'd seen the angel out of his trenchcoat. The coat, along with the suit jacket and shoes, lay in a chair in the corner. Castiel himself was curled up amid six pillows, dead to the world. Apart from the moderate facial damage, gratuitous bandages peeked out from his chest, arm, and neck, and that was just what Dean could see.

Dean gingerly nudged the first unbruised spot he could find, and Cas, seemingly in a deep sleep, opened his eyes so quickly it was unnerving. "Dean." Castiel's voice was heart wrenchingly quiet, full of obvious pain.

"Yeah, Cas, 'm right here." Dean leaned forward so as to hear him better.

"You came."

"'Course I came. What, you think I'd leave you to _Bobby's_ hands? Man's a sadist, believe me, I know from experience. Now what the hell were you thinking, taking on five angels by yourself? Are you cracked?"

In an amazing moment of metaphor comprehension, Cas replied wryly, "I suppose I am now. It was not a choice I would have made under different circumstances."

Dean raised an eyebrow in askance.

"They were coming for you," Cas explained, ever blunt but innocent. "It was a very poorly-constructed plan. They sought to kill Sam and use the time it would take for Lucifer to resurrect him to convince you to say yes to Michael. So, naturally, when I got wind of it, I had to stop them."

Dean was uncharacteristically speechless-and full of guilt. "Cas..." He ran a hand through his hair, searching for the right words. "You shouldn't have done that, man, not alone. I could have helped."

"That would have been counterproductive," he stated as though it was obvious.

"Still. I really prefer you alive."

Castiel's eyes softened with insight. "Do not feel guilty, Dean," he told him as gently as Cas ever could be. "The family I have in heaven...it's different from the one I have discovered here. You and Sam and Bobby, you would fight and kill for each other. This example gives me faith in humans. I believe that if more people were like you, perhaps the other angels wouldn't want to exterminate them."

"Okay, you are *really* cracked." Dean stood up abruptly and clapped Cas carefully on the shoulder. "Me and Sam are here now, so just call if you need anything. Get some rest, sparky."

"Our angel is an idiot," Dean announced upon entering Sam's room. Sam looked up in groggy askance. "Seems he felt the need to foil a crack assassination-kidnap attempt. As if we couldn't have done it ourselves."

Sam smiled sleepily. "That's Cas for you. Maybe you should teach him about self-preservation next."

"Don't think I won't," Dean muttered more to himself. He set a fresh, cold water bottle on the bedside table. "Here's some more water. Go to sleep and text if you need anything. I'll be downstairs."

"Dean," Sam protested, "you gotta get some sleep yourself."

"'M fine. Besides, Cas might need me, and I'm sure Bobby's doing something..." Dean trailed off vaguely and tromped down the stairs.

Sam frowned after his brother. Dean was already doing it. Whenever something highly stressful rocked their lives, he would go off sleeping and eating until he either dropped from exhaustion, caved to the hunger, or the issue was resolved. It was utterly unhealthy but Sam was in no position to force Dean to do anything.


	2. Tending

Highlights: "Shut up and take your shirt off."

:D 3

I don't own them. D:

oOoOo

"Need help?" Dean inquired as he touched down on the first floor.

From amid his books, Bobby retorted instantly, "Need sleep?"

"Don't start, Bobby..."

"You ain't gonna be any help to them if you're sick, too," Bobby chastised. "You may as well go catch some shut-eye while they're out. I'm just checkin' some facts. I'll hear them if they call."

"You sure?" Dean seemed not to have heard any of the reprimand.

"I could always knock you out."

A tight smile. "Right. Okay, fine. You know where I'll be."

Dean snagged a half-full bottle of whiskey and ascended the steps once more. But instead of to a spare room, his feet lead him back to Cas. Cas had returned to restorative slumber, so Dean pulled up a chair and threw the cap to the bottle in the trash. This was close enough to sleeping, in his opinion, and the likelihood of dropping off when he was intoxicated was much higher. Besides, he needed a relaxer.

Once the bottle ran drier than a desert, Dean staggered to another guest bedroom and fell face-first into the made bed. He slept fitfully, waking every few hours to imagined summons from his charges. But every time he plodded to their rooms, he found them either asleep or without need.

"I'm going out tonight," Bobby told him over microwaved dinner.

Amazingly, Dean could still joke, "Got a hot date? Don't stay out too late, you crazy kids."

"Yeah, I'm sure that demon'll be real happy to see me. Think I should bring it flowers?"

"Demon?" Dean perked at the mention of a hunt. "Just one?"

Bobby caught his drift. "I may be old, but I can still exorcise by myself. You stay here and look after the kids, honey."

"You sure? It'll go a lot faster with two." Dean was practically begging now.

Bobby rose and scrubbed Dean's hair understandingly on his way to the kitchen. Dean sent a glare after him and poked halfheartedly at the instant mashed potatoes.

Dean was almost ecstatic when a weak call floated down the stairs. He was in Sam's room in record time. "What's up, Sammy?"

"I'm hungry."

"Thought I'd never hear that outta your mouth again," Dean smiled. "What do you want?"

"Just some soup. Thanks, Dean." The gratitude shining in his eyes was thanks enough. "Did you get some rest?"

"Yes, mother," Dean said sarcastically over his shoulder. "Food'll be up soon."

Dean Winchester had been on plenty of grueling hunts, but few of them tested his patience as did making tomato soup. First there was the quest for Bobby's can opener (which he found in the laundry room of all places), then there was figuring out how to get it warming on the stove. All the culinary skills he'd learned in his younger years from having to fix meals for himself and Sam had vanished under the influence of fast food. When pleasant-smelling steam began wafting off the top of the thick red soup, Dean allowed himself to feel a glimmer of hope that he might be in the clear.

Which was when his phone vibrated with a message from Sam. _Cas is calling_, the text read. Dean abandoned the spoon and sprinted upstairs.

"What is it?" he demanded the second he threw open the door.

Cas was half-propped up on pillows. His arms hugged his midriff tightly. "I think something is wrong," he reported, his normally even voice was marred with pain.

"A *lot* of things are wrong, Cas. Gotta be more specific. Are you bleeding again?"

"No. There's a terrible pain inside my-" Castiel suddenly seized with discomfort.

Dean knew the look all too well and wondered whether it was too late to call Bobby back. "You're sick to your stomach," he groaned.

"Yes, I believe that's where it's centered."

"Have you ever thrown up before?"

Cas regarded the elder Winchester with a pinched but curious expression. "Have I thrown what up?" he inquired.

"Awesome. Well-" Dean retrieved the nearest trash bin and set it between the angel's legs. "Pretty soon whatever's in your stomach will be in this trashcan. Don't try to swallow it back down. Just let it flow."

Cas appeared quite unnerved. "I don't understand. There's nothing in my stom-"

His retch cut him off. Dean made a face and examined the ceiling as a small amount of pure bile found its way into the trash. "Like I said, just let it flow."

Cas spat and shivered when he was done. "What in unholy *hell* was that?" he panted.

It amused Dean that vomiting was so bad it could make an angel curse. "That, Cas, was just one of the infinite joys of humanity," he replied with heavy sarcasm. "You need to drink if you're gonna be spillin' your guts."

"This is hardly the time for liquor, Dean."

"C'mon, I'm not _that_ stupid." Dean refilled the glass of water on the side table. "Drink this. I'll get you more in a minute. You should probably eat, too, and I guess your bandages could use changing..."

"You don't have to do all this," Cas began, but Dean had already grabbed the medical kit lying open on the dresser. "Dean, really, I'm fine."

"Shut up and take your shirt off."

Dean prayed Cas's stomach could manage itself while he redressed the angel's myriad of injuries. Dean worked mechanically, methodically, not skipping a single step he'd been taught from a young age: check bindings, disinfect, fix bindings if necessary, bandage again, repeat as needed. Cas watched him closely, noting both his actions and how distant and detached and exhausted Dean appeared.

"Done." Dean smoothed the last gauze in place without flourish. "Bet you feel better with all that wet, bloody crap off."

"I do. Thank you."

"'S fine. What do you want to eat? I got Sam some-_damn_!" Dean looked over his shoulder with a horrible recollection. "The soup!"

The acrid smell of burning met him like a stampeding elephant as he dashed back into the kitchen. The tomato soup was boiling over onto the stove.

"Son of a _bitch_!"

Dean yanked the pot away from the flame and shut the burner off. He opened a window to rid the downstairs of the awful stench and turned his attentions back to Sam's ruined supper. An experimental stir with the spoon indicated that a good portion of the soup had burned to the bottom of the pot. Somehow Dean still dared to hope; he tested the top layer, wondering if he could skim off any salvageable meal. The taste made him gag immediately. He dumped the entire pot in the sink with disdain and sunk into the floor to collect himself.

He reasoned it out in his pounding head that the situation wasn't so bad. Sam was sick. Cas was severely injured. He was left alone to care for the both of them. But that didn't mean he had to lose his head over it. He just needed to take a breath.

But that still left Sam and Cas without dinner, and the latter needed water. Or a light soda to settle his stomach. Or maybe both.

Dean rolled his eyes and once more pounded up the stairs, this time with a plan. "C'mon, Cas," he said fake-brightly. "We're going on a little adventure."

"Adventure?"

"It's a pain in the ass to go from your room to Sam's and back again, so you're movin' in with him. Up we go."

Dean helped Cas stand. It worried a not-so-distant part of him how much Cas was leaning on him. Dean was practically carrying him, which was no small feat.

They finally arrived at Sam's door. "Congrats, Sammy," Dean announced. "You get a roommate." He deposited Cas at Sam's feet. "I'm gonna go get your bed. Don't fly off."

"Dean, you can't move that whole thing by yourself," Sam protested.

"Yeah? _Watch me_."

Indeed, Dean felt as though he could do anything with this burst of agitation-fueled adrenaline. He grappled with the mattress first, slowly maneuvering it to its new home. The bed frame followed. Once the halves were whole once more, Dean reshaped the downy terrain into an admirable rendition of Cas's original nest. He only breathed once Cas was back in his own space.

"Alright, I screwed up dinner, so it's gonna be a bit longer. Soup is _not_ on the menu."

"I wondered what that smell was," Sam muttered.

"So we'll have breakfast for supper: toast, bananas, and apple sauce. I'm not taking special requests and you will eat it or I will force feed you. Sam, put your damn blankets back on before I tie you into them. Cas, stop poking at that. Be back." And Dean turned on his heel to address the newest quest.


	3. Complications

In which things go even further south but Dean gets some much-needed sleep.

Don't own them.

oOoOo

The ease of making breakfast calmed Dean considerably. It was difficult to mess up toasting bread, though he half-expected the toaster to explode. Apple sauce on a plate with a banana on the side, joined by the warm, crunchy bread, then orange juice for Sam and water for Cas-it could have been a regular day.

The patients received their meal with gratitude, knowing that their caretaker had been through way too much trouble to procure it. Dean was finally able to drop into a chair and close his eyes. Had it really only been a few hours since Bobby left?

"Dean, have some of my toast," Sam offered.

"Nah, not hungry," Dean replied. "You eat up and tell me if you want more."

In truth, Dean was starving, but he was slow to incur another onslaught of the kitchen gods' wrath by cooking much more tonight. He decided he would grab something innocuous like a sandwich once his invalids were down for the night.

"This is surprisingly delicious," Cas said through a mouthful of toast.

Dean managed a tired grin. "Always the tone of surprise. I'm not only good for shooting things."

"May I have more of this?" He crunched down on the last bit of toast as he spoke.

"Coming right up. Sam, you're getting more, too. You haven't eaten like this in days."

It was like one single, feeble ray on a tar-black horizon that Cas and Sam were eating. Cas especially; Dean hoped that signaled at least a slight return to health.

He toasted the rest of the bag of bread, halved the applesauce into two bowls, and brought along the bunch of bananas. It sparked some warmth in his chest to see them dive in the second the items touched the side table. While they were occupied and silent, Dean resumed his place in the chair and tentatively crept towards a light nap...

...At which time a copious amount of banging, crashing, and swearing rose from downstairs.

Sam and Cas stopped eating and looked up with wide eyes. Dean frowned and quickly found his gun. What could it be this time? Robbers? With Dean's luck, probably. At least they wouldn't be difficult to dispel.

In fact, Dean hoped it _was_ some punks breaking in. He dearly wished for an outlet to vent the frustrations of the night upon.

He could not, however, vent upon Bobby for breaking in to his own place.

"Bobby," Dean exclaimed with relief, belting his gun. He was working up a quip when Bobby turned around.

"Will you give me a hand?" he snapped through the roll of bandage in his mouth.

Bobby had his left arm pressed to his side to stop the copious bleeding; the hand on the arm was very obviously broken. More blood soaked his right pant leg, and a deep gash peeked out from under his trucker cap. Dean took all this in and felt his internal organs drop straight down to the pit.

"Dean!"

"Yeah, right, sorry!" Dean grabbed the bandage but was unsure of what to go for first. "Uh, okay, let's get you upstairs..."

Dean towed the heavily limping Bobby to his room. He avoided the hand and first went to town on the steadily dripping side wound. "What the hell happened?" he demanded as he worked. "I thought it was one demon!"

"So did I," Bobby ground out. He cracked open a fresh bottle of liquor and took a long pull. "Guess I should have brought you after all."

"Luckily for you, I'm not in the mood to say I told you so." Dean tied off the row of stitches and bandaged it, then headed for the leg problem.

"Dean."

The way Bobby said his name made him halt and look up. "What?"

"We're in for hell tonight, son. I think they followed me home."

Dean stared up into Bobby's exhausted eyes, desperately searching for some hint of jest. There was none.

The prospect of coming under fire by an unknown amount of demons was not one that would have unnerved Dean under normal circumstances-normal circumstances being that he at least had Sam up and functioning by his side. But Sam was down, Cas was down, and now Bobby would be of no use. Dean was alone in this fight and had everything to lose.

He quietly returned to dressing the leg injury, ignoring Bobby's repeated attempts to get his attention. When that was done, all he said was, "I'm not the best at setting bones. I can wrap it if you want."

Bobby surveyed him and let the sharp words die on his lips. He merely nodded.

After completing Bobby's clean up, Dean helped him to what he was now mentally referring to as the infirmary. Sam was aghast at Bobby's condition. Dean left the explaining to Bobby and stood rooted to the spot, head down, thinking.

Demons were coming. He was alone to fight them. He was exhausted beyond comprehension, extremely hungry, and stressed far past a normal person's breaking point. If push came to shove, it was unlikely he could fend off the attackers, but failure was not an option-he had an out-of-action family to protect, and if he fell...

"Dean?"

Sam's voice finally hit his ears. He looked up. All three of them were staring at him with great concern. With Olympic effort, he forced a small smile. "Well," he said quietly and with the ghost of his usual attitude, "guess I got work to do."

He fetched yet another bed in for Bobby, despite the older man's insistence that he only required a cot. He moved load after load of nonperishable food and water to the infirmary, also adding a stockpile of weapons and ammo. He filled the bathtub with holy water, salted every possible entrance, then sat in a chair in front of the door and occupied it, a shotgun in his right hand and a full bottle of whiskey in his left. "Let 'em come," he murmured. "I've got all night."

Soon, too soon, an impossibly black cloud obscured the full moon. In another life, Dean would have been fascinated by the purple lightning that crackled within it. "How many we talkin'?" he asked Bobby tersely.

"Four or five," he replied. "Dean, give me a gun-"

"Don't even think about it. Last thing I need is you shootin' me in the back."

"Dean, you can't do this on your own," Sam said angrily. "Don't be an idiot. We can help you."

"*Really*?" Dean surveyed him with pale annoyance. "The only one of you three who can actually get out of the bed unsupported has one broke hand and one dislocated shoulder. Besides, everything's salted down and we have supplies. I've got it covered."

A crash and echoing rough laughter immediately followed his words. Dean tensed and gave his full attention to what might be on the other side of the door.

Multiple pairs of footsteps mounted the stairs and halted in front of the door. Dean hardly dared to breathe. Finally, a slow knock. "Anybody home?" a female voice called.

Dean knew better than to respond.

"I know *somebody's* home," she continued. "We can't get through the door. You in there, Dean?"

His finger twitched on the trigger, but he was far from opening the door for a confrontation.

"Heard you were playing nurse. Who else is in there? Let me guess: your brother, your angel, and your adoptive daddy. One big, happy family!"

More laughter accompanied the end of her words. It set Dean's blood on fire. He stood up and began pacing.

"I guess I should introduce myself-my meat suit's name is Jen. You should open up that door. I'm sure she'd love to meet you."

"Don't," Sam breathed when Dean flinched. Dean nodded curtly.

Composing his tone into a reminiscence of his usual cocky confidence, he said loudly, "Well, Jen, you and your buddies may wanna get comfy, 'cuz I can guarantee you I'm not opening this door."

Jen laughed. "Oh, sweet little Dean. I'm sure one of us could think of something that could persuade you to open up for a face-to-face."

"Y'know, I've never hated the sound of a woman's voice. Congratulations, you're the first."

"Okay, I get it," she twinkled. "You're grumpy because you haven't had your nap. That's fine. We can wait."

Five minutes of silence elapsed before Dean felt comfortable enough to quip, "And I thought I knew what hell was."

They were officially between a rock and a hard place. Dean wished there had been time to evacuate before the siege began. They could be en route to a hospital filled with certified professionals who could provide real care, not just the pathetic jumble of drugstore gauze, floss stitches, and burned soup he had to offer. It raked painfully at his chest to realize that his best simply wasn't good enough, and if he failed any more they would pay for it with their lives.

At the insistence and eventual serious threats of his charges, Dean did lie down instead of trying to sleep in that hard-backed chair. "You're freezing," Sam said disapprovingly, layering blankets on his brother.

"And you're burning up." Dean was almost glad of this. He scooted as close to Sam as his manly pride would allow. "Wake me up if there's any trouble."

"Yeah, yeah..."

And Dean was out the second his head touched the pillow.


	4. A Short Siege

oOoOo

Against all odds, all the men of the Winchester extended family slept soundly that night. The demons remained surprisingly true to their word and did not once disturb the infirmary's inhabitants. Dean awoke wonderfully refreshed and with renewed strength to face the day ahead.

"Glad you woke up."

Dean jumped, but it was only Sam grinning down at him. "Right back at you," Dean responded. "You feelin' okay?"

"A bit better. You're one heck of a doctor."

"Glad you think so." Dean stretched and got up. "You should go back to sleep."

"How come?"

He didn't answer. He was thinking of the demons' imminent return. Though he didn't plan on opening that door, he feared what they might say to convince him otherwise. He had no doubt that they would get to him eventually.

Dean set to work on breakfast while the others roused themselves. He distributed plates and took requests regarding general aid. Bobby adamantly refused help changing his bandages and Sam only required another strong dose of medicine, so Dean quickly moved on to Cas.

"Whatcha need, Cas?" he asked with more pep than he felt.

The angel looked up at him with a storm in his blue eyes. "I need to recover immediately so I can help you fight these demons," he muttered.

"Hey, you've saved my ass more times than I can count. It's time I return the favor. Seriously," Dean insisted when Cas's dark expression didn't change. "I know how to get along without angel dust. It'll be fine."

"So you won't go out there alone?"

"Not planning on it."

"That is not a reassuring answer."

"I know, I'm the king of 'em. Now let's have a look at those bandages."

It was heartening that only the largest wounds required redressing. Dean silently praised the innate ability of angels to heal more quickly than humans. Perhaps, he thought, he wouldn't be alone in the fight for much longer.

That thin glass shield of hope shattered when knocks cracked on the door. Dean winced. He'd almost forgotten. Contrary to whatever he previously claimed, he knew it was only going to be a matter of time before he caved. He therefore checked his guns, secured the knife, and filled a flask with holy water.

"I thought you weren't going out there!" Sam bristled immediately when he realized what his brother was doing.

"'M not," Dean replied tensely, absently. He stood in front of the door, waiting for what he knew was coming...

"Good morning," Jen trilled. "You in a better mood, Dean?"

"I was," Dean muttered. "What chance is there that you guys would just walk away?"

"Maybe a look at your pretty face could convince us."

Dean barely suppressed an irritated groan.

"Yeah, c'mon, Dean," a man's voice chimed in tauntingly. "We're all gonna be here for a while. Let's have a chat. Maybe we could get the details about your trip downstairs?"

"Son of a bitch!" Dean yelled immediately. Lava coursed through his veins and red clouded his vision. It was half rage at the subject being dredged up, half heart-stopping panic; it was not an option to let anyone in the room hear even a whisper of his activities in the pit.

"Dean, _don't_-!" Cas began, but it was too late.

Dean threw open the door with a vengeance. Four demons jeered and snarled just outside, still repelled by the intact salt line. Dean hesitated only a split second when he realized that fact. They couldn't get in, meaning he could still turn away. He could choose not to fight.

But when did he ever choose the smart path?

Ignoring the panicked, dissuading cries of his charges, he jumped the line and unleashed his hell.

It would not have been a fair fight even with Dean at his full capacity. He battled as honorably and bravely as he always did, but his drained efforts only netted one enemy. He sunk the knife into the thing's heart, gleaning a bit of savage pleasure at the way its skin reflected an internal lethal crackle of orange lightning.

Iron hands seized his tired arms and he was thrown into a wall. It hurt much more than it should have; he did not move instantly and was subsequently pinned there by a demon on each side.

"Pretty impressive," Jen applauded him. She drew the knife from the sheath it found in her comrade's chest. "You got one of us. That's much more than I expected."

"You can go to hell," Dean panted, not forgetting to throw in a measure of venom. "Let me go and I'll kill all of you by myself."

Jen disregarded him and examined the knife with cool interest. "This little thing has earned quite a reputation," she said thoughtfully. "Only known knife that can kill a demon. That's something. And you've killed a lot of demons, haven't you, Dean? You've killed a lot of us."

Dean didn't respond. His mind was presently elsewhere. He thought he'd heard a noise from the bedroom. The notion quickened his pulse. As much as he hated the idea of anyone joining the scuffle, he couldn't deny that a hand right about now would be most appreciated.

Jen continued, not noticing her captive's disengagement. "And that's pretty nifty, what it does. That light from inside. It's almost poetic. Don't you agree, Dean?"

"Are you _still_ talking?"

She smiled. "I wonder if it works the same way for humans."

Dean had only the time to draw breath for his next retort when the blade that slew perhaps a hundred demons was wedged deeply in his ribcage. It was a searing agony that choked off the end of his instinctive shout of pain. His eyes closed and he shook his head, hoping to escape some of the fire rolling in waves from ground zero.

He wasn't completely aware of being released. There were thuds and grunts and a few yelps, and suddenly Sam's pale, worried face was swimming in his line of sight.

"Did they hit anything?" he asked, strained. "Do we need to go to the hospital?"

"How'm...I s'posed to know 'f they hit somethin'?" Dean responded with hazy irritation. "Jus' sew it up. Sooner rather th'n later, Sammy..."

"Okay-can you walk?"

"Yeah, I can freakin' walk..."

Dean would have been less sarcastic had his body not been in the process of shutting down for major repairs. His reeling dragged Sam into a wall with him, but Sam somehow managed to bring his brother back on track and guide him to a bed. "You got 'em?" Sam called to Bobby.

"They're done," Bobby reported with dark triumph. "Damn things. Is he okay?"

Sam glanced down. Dean lay very still on the unmade bed, his eyes resolutely closed. "He's out. Man, Bobby, he's too quiet..."

"Then patch him up! Don't let him bleed all over the place!"

"Right, yeah..."

Sam was sure to sterilize absolutely everything before setting to work on Dean's wound. Dean seemed to be breathing normally, and the blood was a regular crimson color instead of the darker red of a lethal injury. Somehow the blade had missed any important landmarks. Sam exhaled in relief. For the first time in a long time, something was going right.

Sam tended the cut professionally and set Dean up in his old bed. It made him smile to see the elder Winchester finally asleep and at peace. Sam didn't plan on waking him any time soon. Dean had done more than enough-too much-lately. He'd over earned his rest.


	5. Reliable

I know this fic is about Dean, but

CASTIEL.

STOPPIT. I CAN'T. 3333

I wish I owned them. 3

oOoOo

The house Dean came around to was without noise. Not an ominous or unpleasant silence, but one that heralded peace. As his mind slowly geared up, Dean became aware of the sunshine splaying across his body, warming it pleasantly like he was lying on a beach instead of an amazingly soft bed.

"Dean?"

The voice surprised Dean. He opened his eyes and met Cas's mildly concerned expression. "Are you alright?" he inquired gently.

Dean rubbed his face and stretched, careful to avoid ripping his stitches. "Pretty good, all things considered," he muttered. "How long have I been out?"

"Approximately fifteen hours."

Dean smiled vaguely. "Fifteen hours. That's awesome. Never thought I'd get fifteen hours without being in a hospital."

He sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. In a flash, Cas's hand was on his shoulder, precluding any more movement. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"You are not to get out of the bed unless absolutely necessary," Cas told him firmly.

"I'm fine."

Cas's grip tightened almost threateningly when Dean tried to rise again. Dean blinked. The angel was dead serious.

"Alright." Dean settled back and luxuriously sprawled across the bed. "I guess if you're givin' orders, you must be feeling better."

"Yes, thanks to you. I intend to return the favor until Sam and Bobby return from the hospital.

A natural tingle of dread dripped into Dean's stomach. "They're at the hospital?"

"After we took care of the rest of the demons, Sam drove Bobby to the emergency room to get his hand set. Bobby made Sam check in to clear up the rest of his illness. They should be back by tomorrow."

Dean nodded slowly, contemplating the new information. The demons were dead. Bobby and Sam were receiving proper medical treatment. He himself had endured sleep deprivation, stress to a criminal degree, thorough battery, and a knife to the ribs. Yesterday he wouldn't have envisioned an end to the misery.

"Do you think," Dean mused aloud, "that whatever magical being that always seems to be looking out ever gets tired of saving our asses?"

Castiel actually smiled. "There was no magical being at work this time. It was all you."

"Ah." Dean waved away the compliment. "Wasn't much use. Only took out one of those demons and then got knifed."

"Dean, you tended us with diligence, compassion, and selflessness. Does that mean nothing to you?" Slight anger colored Cas's tone.

The other shrugged. "Just did what I do. What, you think I'd let you guys fend for yourselves?"

"Of course not, but-"

"There you go."

Dean clearly wanted the conversation over. Cas allowed the subject to drop and instead said, "Your bandages could probably use changing."

"Yeah, right. Hand me the stuff."

Cas retrieved the medical kit and withdrew the sterile pad, gauze, and disinfectant. Dean reached for it only to have his hand knocked away. His jaw dropped. Cas paid him no mind and, not waiting for an answer to his inquiry of permission, began work.

"I...could have done it myself, y'know," Dean said quietly.

"No need. I observed you earlier."

The angel was ironly concentrated, determined not to make any mistake. Still, he occasionally glanced up to Dean for validation and received it in the form of small, single nods. Finally a clean bandage was placed and Cas looked at Dean for the verdict.

Dean appraised his side and grinned. "You're one hell of a nurse, Cas."

"Thank you. And now I believe you require food."

"You read my mind."

Dean made another natural attempt at getting up that was instantly foiled. He gave a growl of irritation. "You really expect me to leave you alone in Bobby's kitchen? Have you ever actually *made* food, Cas?"

"I'm certain I can figure it out."

"I don't see why I can't make my own food," Dean muttered, on the verge of pouting.

Castiel smiled at the man he knew had been through so much and kept fighting through it all. "Because, Dean, you need to learn that you are not the only one who is reliable around here."


End file.
